Thursday, April 11, 2013

“Over the Great Divide”

Typical for wording in newspaper articles dating from the
1920s, but unusual to ears unaccustomed to hearing such descriptions in our
times, William C. Woodworth’s obituary seems lengthy and ornate.

However, one such flowery statement in the article caught my
eye for another reason. Apparently, not only had Maud Woodworth Bean lost her
father on May 22, 1928. She had also, within that past year, lost both an uncle
and an aunt.

W. C. Woodworth, a pioneer of the Azusa valley, died at his
residence on Vincent street
on Tuesday. He is the third member of his family to pass over the great divide
in the past year, L. D. Woodworth, a brother, having answered the call last
November, and a sister, Mrs. A. L. Patterson, dying in Sioux City, Iowa,
four weeks ago.

Travel challenges being what they were in the 1920s, it is
doubtful that Maud and Sam Bean would have traveled to Iowa for the funeral of
Maud’s aunt—whichever of William’s sisters that might have been, the
frustrating custom of publicly referring to a married woman only by her husband’s
name (or worse, by his initials) preventing discovery of further details so
far. With Maud’s grandmother, Eliza, being the mother of eight—seven of whom
were still living by the time of the 1900 census—that aunt could have been one
of at least three sisters.

On the other hand, if Maud had returned alone from Texas only a couple
years earlier, perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine her returning back
east for an aunt’s funeral.

Maud’s uncle, however, may have been another case. Named
most likely for his grandfather, Lafayette D. Woodworth, the man had evidently
made the move to southern California
along with his brother William and their parents. Yet, even then, a trip from
Maud’s residence in Alameda—that
is, if she were actually there at the
time—would have entailed a long day’s journey.

The obituary, flowery as it was, also included the kind of
basic facts that genealogists have always prized in their research quest.
Assuming that the newspaper hadn’t gotten any of the details wrong, William
left three siblings behind:

Of course, those stylish initials get in the way of
straightforward research progress. I have a solid guess, though, that “H. D.”
probably refers to William’s brother Harvey. Social protocol of the times hints
that Emma Larabee was, by that time, already widowed, herself. Mrs. F. C.
Hoskins, unfortunately, will have to be put on my “guess” list along with Mrs. A. L. Patterson until I find
further hints—and no, I don’t just mean the “shaky leaf” type.

With such a large family of origin, I wonder how many were
there to mourn William Woodworth’s passing. With a litany of deaths to regale
us as we look back on the timeline of passings in Maud’s adult life up to this
point, loss seemed to be a way of life. Babies, young people, the elderly—almost
anyone, at any time, could have qualified for a trip “over the great divide.”

An unidentified man rides atop a cart, handling a team of farm horses in a scene not unlike that which might have been played out during William C. Woodworth's early years in southern California. Unmarked, undated photograph from the collection of Bill Bean.

Sister Emma L. (b. abt 1858) was married before the 1880 US census to a Gilbert. He died before the 1930 US census leaving her a widow.

F. C. Hoskins appears to be a Fernando C Hoskins a photographer - he is listed with a Lillian (b. Oct 1861) The census lists the name Hoskins frequently as Haskins. I think this is William's sister Lillie (1880 US census).

Loss as a way of life. That's a heavy phrase, but accurate. Looking through my ancestors in the 1700s and 1800s, so very many people did not live what we would call a full life span. In today's world we're not used to that (with the tragic exception of gun violence -- I hope Congress does something effective.)

I'm revisiting these comments today, after a modern tragedy yesterday put a halt to some people's "full life span" and it certainly is tragic. I guess every era has an aspect that causes mourning. And yet, somehow, I get the feeling we are more surprised about our losses than that past century might have been of theirs. It does seem there was more loss in those previous centuries. Perhaps that is just an illusion of distance.

About Me

It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference?
I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands.